Sweet Places On Her Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Wishing wells so shallow they can’t
Hold a dollar’s
Change,
Her eyes wonderfully obscure,
Disinterested by disasters of traffics and
Tourisms,
By my comely midway where I’ve set
Up games for her,
Named after household pets I’d hope to drop
Into her under that
Cerulean cathedral we’ve been swimming in
For all time:
I was the last holdout after all the buses had
Gone home, caracoling their lost
Boys,
The gap-toothed causes of the fruitfully
Multiplied:
And she came after chorus, after pottery spinning,
Origami zoo-life threshed in her hair;
I told her I was a nocturnal time traveler
Out of my comfortable elements,
Out of liquor;
I wanted to know upon the places on her to put
My lips and suckling, imbibe;
But she just flaunted her ass like a laconic songbird
As she put on her skates,
And slid easily past me along the concrete
Tributaries under the steamy sun,
And I had gambled all my wishes in to her, but
She shed them with her oily coat, every one.
The alligators followed her home with their insatiable
Thoughts,
But I couldn’t even stand to walk out:
She had me done.